Avengers: Return of Loki
by RavenWillDragomir
Summary: (Placed after both new Thor and Winter Soldier) Loki has managed to take over Asgard, and now has thousands of soldiers under his command. He decides to go back to Earth, and finish what he started there. The Avengers must reunite in order to defeat him, but Loki also has a promise to keep, one he made to Black Widow- and he's prepared to use her as his bait as well.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Please please please review! Will be fast paced at first because I love action. 3

"Barton," Natasha panted, staring down into eyes that were lit with electric blue fire. The two had been in the training room, sparring, when one of his spells hit. Ever since Loki had taken over his mind, Hawkeye had been having short relapses into his controlled state. With no instructions and no master to give them, he'd turned on the person he trusted more than anyone else in the world- Natasha Romanoff.

He held her two feet off the ground, his hand clenched tightly around her neck, thumb pressed into her windpipe. When this happened- and it was always with her- she didn't fight back. She knew the assassin's natural instincts would only add to the problem. "Clint, it's me," she hissed, struggling to take in enough air. He hit her hard across the face with his free hand, splitting her cheek. "It's me, Tasha," she whispered, a trickle of blood running down her face.

"Shut up!" He yelled furiously, slamming her back into the wall and letting her drop to the floor. His foot snaked out and jabbed her in the side, causing sharp pain to shoot up her ribs, and he drew it back for another kick. Black Widow raised her hands above her head, looking up at him with as much innocence and caring as she could put into her normally emotionless expression.

"Clint, please, you're hurting me." He faltered, blinking rapidly. Those angry too-blue eyes faded back to normal. She let her arms fall, relieved, as he took a step back, burying his face in his hands.

"Tasha?" He lowered his arms, confusion turning to worry when he saw her on the floor. Clint knelt in front of her, scrambled emotions clouding his features. "What happened?" He lifted a hand to her cut cheek, to the shockingly scarlet blood. She flinched involuntarily, her muscles tensing despite her internal reprimands.

"Tasha, did I do this to you? Oh god, Nat, I didn't mean to hurt you..." his words were cut off as she tugged him into her embrace.

"It wasn't you, it's okay." It wasn't that she was greatly injured. No, the Russian assassin didn't even register pain on such a low level, he knew that. But it was killing him to hurt her, to not be able to control himself.

"How can you do it?" He whispered, his head resting on her shoulder. "How can you work every day, put your life in my hands, when I mindlessly hurt you?" She rubbed his back in small circles, her voice low when she replied.

"Because I don't see it as you. Your body, yes. But when I see your eyes, all I see is Loki. Loki hurting me, hurting you." She pulled back, holding him at arms' length, her green eyes meeting his light blue ones. "I trust you." He hugged her again.

Three simple words to some, but between them, it was everything. Their entire lives consisted of sneaking, lying, and watching. Everyone was a target, an enemy, and the worst mistake to be made was letting your guard down. They could all betray your trust, if you were stupid enough to give it to them. For them, trusting someone wasn't risking friendship or family or even your heart. It was risking your life.

"Why don't you stop me?" His voice was muffled as he spoke into her shoulder.

"Because your instincts would kick in. It's not like when Loki actually had you. He used everything you had on me, everything you've learned, everything that makes you you. But this, it's like your body is being forced, but your mind is resisting. It's blunt. I could take him out in an instant, if I had to." She sighed, her eyebrow turning up the way it so often did. "As long as he's not hurting me, it's better not to hurt him, and consequently you." She generally referred to Clint's other state as him, meaning Loki. It helped both of them separate his actions from Loki's. After a long moment in which it was silent, save for gentle breathing, he pulled away.

Barton squared his shoulders, getting to his feet and helping her up, even though she didn't need it. They walked towards the exit in silence.

"You're going to have bruises," he said quietly, his face expressionless, but his eyes showed he was hurting. She rolled her own eyes at him as the door opened to let them through, and slid shut behind them. There was no need for her to point out that she wasn't actually hurt. He knew.

They walked down the hallway side by side, entering the elevator and turning back around as the machine whirred to life. There was no elevator music playing today. Jarvis knew better than that, for which both were grateful. The doors opened a few moments later, and together they stepped out into the living room.

Stark Towers had been repaired almost immediately after the battle of New York, and had even been upgraded in places. It looked the same from the outside, but inside, everything had changed. After the destruction of S.H.I.E.L.D, and the Avengers' secrets had been leaked to the world, they had reunited at the safest place they knew- Stark Towers. Thor was back on Asgard for all they knew, but Bruce, Natasha, and Clint had all relocated to the 84th floor, where bedrooms had been made for them. Steve's stuff was there too, but he was still out searching for his friend and nemesis, Bucky. Director Fury and Agent Hill were supposedly working to regroup and restart the new S.H.I.E.L.D program, but that was about all they had gathered of their whereabouts. So while the world fought over what to do with them, and their agency tried to rebuild itself from the bottom up, the Avengers grew impatient, locked up in their tower.

Of course they weren't actually _locked _in the building, but being seen in public didn't go down too well, they had learned. At least not for most of them. Tony Stark was still so popular for his bravery in the battle, and his record was so comparatively good, that aside from the normal gasps and whispers, they didn't really bother him. The others, however, rarely risked leaving Stark Towers, and if they did, it was at night time or in disguise. Perhaps most endangered of all was Black Widow, whose track record was less than clean, and she was wanted in over fifteen countries. At least Hawkeye worked for the good guys, for the most part. Not to mention, many of her old enemies had failed to track her down simply because she had changed her name. Now they knew.

As frustrating as it was, they were effectively grounded. To pass their time, Tony and Bruce worked together on science projects, and the two assassins trained in the gym on the 86th floor. Pepper was always in and out, attending press conferences and doing interviews all over the world, trying to defend the Avengers. Even so, all of them were getting twitchy.

Tony and Bruce were sitting on the couch playing video games when they walked in. Glancing up briefly to see them enter, Stark did a double take.

"You're bleeding." She had nearly forgotten.

"Yeah. I got carried away," she lied smoothly, moving behind the kitchen counter and grabbing a paper towel, holding it to her face.

"Hmph," he responded uninterestedly, turning back to the screen and whacking a storm trooper over the head with his gun. Hawkeye followed her into the kitchen, pulling out dinner ingredients and shooing her out of the kitchen so he could work. She brushed past him, sending him one of the knowing looks they shared, and paced over to the two men playing video games.

"I thought this game was different," she sat on the other couch, glancing up at the giant screen.

"I reprogrammed it to be better," the billionaire bragged, without taking his eyes off the screen.

"Of course you did," she rolled her eyes. He scowled.

"Aren't you supposed to be cooking or something?" Bruce's eyes widened and he shook his head violently, while from the kitchen Barton chuckled.

"Last time she tried to cook, Jarvis nearly had to set off the fire sprinklers," the Hulk said quickly.

"You should see her on missions. We went days without food once, because she managed to set our entire food supply on fire, and she wasn't even trying to cook," Clint chimed in from the kitchen, mixing something in a bowl. She crossed her arms over her chest, leaning back into the cushion.

"Not my problem you men are better housewives than me. Cook all you want, chef-povar," she said snidely. "Though I don't particularly love any of your food."

"That's because the only thing you eat is sugar!" Tony argued.

"I get daily amounts of everything I need to be healthy," she pointed out.

"Yeah, but you get it at the most basic food levels possible. Plus, with all the exercise you get, you still manage to eat dessert every day."

"Maybe if you actually got some activity in your life, you'd be able to eat dessert and be fit," she said pointedly, looking at Stark.

They were always bickering, but the truth was, the group had grown even closer in their time living together. It was hard not to, in close proximity with them and spending all their time together. They only argued to keep things interesting, and just for the sake of having something to do.

They finished their level, and the Russian turned off the screen before they could start another.

"Hey," they complained, but there was no fighting her on it.

"Help with dinner," she instructed imperiously.

"How come you give commands? It's my home." Stark complained. Banner elbowed him in the side, pushing him up the two steps into the kitchen and following.

"Because she's the assassin who could kill you instantly," he whispered. Tony looked to the other assassin for help, but he just shrugged his muscled shoulders.

"Hey, I don't want to be murdered either." They shut up and set the table while Hawkeye finished dinner, watching from the corner of his eye as Natasha stretched out on the couch with a wince.

"Jarvis, turn on some music," Stark clapped his hands together.

"Delay that," called Pepper's voice from where she stood, leaning against the elevator doorway. Banner and Stark nearly jumped out of their skins in surprise, but the other two had heard her coming.

"Miss Potts," Iron Man tried to sound annoyed, but he was glad to see her. "Since when does Jarvis listen to you over me?" She strolled into the room, grinning at him.

"Since he realized how bad your music taste is."

"Dinner's ready!" Clint called hastily, stopping any continued banter. They all went and eagerly sat at the table, Tony and Pepper on one side, Natasha and Clint's empty seat on the other, and Banner at the head. The cook carried several piping hot platters of food over, setting them down before taking his seat. The delicious smell of cheesy pasta, baked chicken, and steamed green beans wafted over them, making their mouths water.

They weren't ones for saying grace or holding hands, so Natasha merely murmured,

"Blagoslovennyy yeda," in Russian, and they tucked into their meal.

"It smells wonderful, Clint," Pepper smiled warmly at him. He looked uncomfortable, unsure how to react to such open praise. In his line of business, emotions were for only closest of friends, if you were stupid enough to have them. Then again, his people were the Avengers, and Pepper was Tony's person, so that made her important. Tony took a bite of the pasta, closing his eyes and groaning with satisfaction.

"'S good," he managed to say through mouthfuls. Everyone else exchanged knowing glances over his head, and Banner turned to Black Widow.

"Pass the green beans," he motioned to the tray next to the dark red head. She merely looked at him, chewing and swallowing a bite of veggies. "Please," he added meekly, earning his reward as she passed them his way.

"You're eating all the pasta!" Iron Man said in dismay as the archer served himself seconds before he even finished firsts. "That's not fair."

"I cooked it."

"God, you're acting like children," Pepper grumbled.

"You should see meals in Russia," Widow commented, playing with her chicken. "People are smashing each other's faces into the table over food." Stark turned to look at his girlfriend pleadingly.

"Can I smash Barton's head into the table, pretty please?" Hawkeye merely snorted and continued to eat.

"No, you wouldn't even get close." She rested her hand on his arm comfortingly. "I don't want you to get hurt." He just grumbled and continued to eat his food, keeping an eye on the last of the pasta so Barton wouldn't take it.

When they were finished with dinner, everyone helped clean up the dishes.

"What's for dessert?" Natasha paused in wiping down the table to look at him.

"I didn't make anything, just ice cream," Hawkeye said, watching the corner of her mouth turn up in a small smile. Other than chocolate, ice cream was her favourite dessert, and he knew it.

"Awe come on, you know I get a brain freeze!" Banner whined.

"Then don't eat any," Hawkeye said coolly.

"You could lay off the sweets anyway," Tony grinned jokingly, receiving a punch to the shoulder. In the following argument, the women retrieved the ice cream and toppings and served themselves two large bowls without being noticed. By the time the men were done, both girls were sitting on the couches and watching with amusement.

"Hey, you two ate more than half!"

"First come first serve," Black Widow replied, putting another spoonful of chocolate ice cream with fudge sauce and chocolate chips in her mouth and closing her eyes to savour it. It took the guys a few minutes to divvy up the leftovers, but eventually they all sat down in front of the TV. The couple claimed a couch for themselves, leaving Natasha sitting between Bruce and Clint.

"Now, what should we watch," Stark swung an arm around his girlfriend and pulled her closer.

"If you say Star Wars again, I will kill you," Widow warned quickly.

"How about Star Trek?" Banner offered up hopefully, but he was shot down.

"Gods, we're never going to decide this way," Pepper said, leaning her head on Tony's shoulder. "Jarvis, any suggestions?" The calm British accented computer came on.

"There are many, Miss Potts, perhaps select a genre?"

"Action," Stark cut in.

"Romance," Pepper countered.

"Romance? No way. Something at least slightly interesting," he retaliated, earning a glare.

"If I might make a suggestion, I believe you would all get something out of the television series 'Sherlock'." There was silence, as none of them had heard of it.

"Sherlock it is, then," Pepper announced, pulling a soft blanket over herself and Tony. The episode began to play, and they all settled into more comfortable positions to see what played out.

When the episode ended and the lights turned back on, they all looked at each other. It was past 1am, and Pepper was barely managing to keep her eyes open.

"Well," Tony said grudgingly. "I guess I could stand to keep watching this series." His girlfriend made a happy-sleepy noise, and he looked over her head at the others. "I say we call it a night, it's late anyway." Carefully he peeled the blanket off, helped Pepper up and led her off to their room. They lived on the 99th floor, and soon the elevator doors slid shut behind them.

"Yeah, we should probably head off, it's been a long day," Bruce said, holding out his hand to take their dishes to the kitchen. They gave them up gratefully, and headed towards the elevator, turning to wait for him.

"You two go ahead," he waved them off. Banner often slept in the living room, where he felt less trapped than in between levels.

"Night Bruce, sleep well," Natasha murmured, stepping into the elevator with Hawkeye. The doors slid shut behind them, and they descended slowly. "Are you ok?" She turned to look at him.

"Yeah, I'm alright." He ran his hand over his hair, a nervous habit. "I just wish I could control myself-him," he corrected.

"I know. But they're getting shorter and further apart every time." Their eyes met again, her deep green meeting his light blue. "Don't beat yourself up about it," she said seriously. "You'll destroy yourself. You've got enough people who'd like to do that without you being one of them."

The silver doors slid open and they exited, turning left and walking down the short hallway.

"I'll try. Get some rest, Tasha," he murmured as they reached the end. To the left was his room, and across the hall was hers.

"You too," she rested her hand on his arm for a second, before turning and slipping through her doorway and vanishing out of sight. With a sigh, he too entered his room and closed the door behind himself. They both changed for bed and brushed their teeth, going through the motions. They were in rest mode, when getting ready meant undressing and slipping into a soft bed. Other times it meant bandaging up a wound as best they could, and lying down on hard cold rock, hoping to last the night. Either way, it was a long time later that either of them actually drifted off to sleep.

'_Not before I make him kill you, slowly, intimately, in every way he knows you fear.' She was lying on cold stone floor, could taste salty blood and feel it flow over her skin. Loki's words echoed in her ears as she looked up at Clint, saw that the blue fire had taken over, and this time he had his orders. 'Please,' she croaked, her palms scraping against the ground as she tried to push herself onto all fours. 'Please don't make him do this, please, I'll do anything.' A foot swung out and connected with her jaw, snapping her head back. Everything hurt, it felt like she had been crushed and set on fire. The god laughed coldly, watching from the corner. 'Stop? No, no, Miss Romanoff, this is only the beginning…'Hawkeye dragged her to her feet by the hair, and she was too weak to fight back as he threw her against the wall again. She could feel something crack on impact, but there was too much pain now to tell what it was. He dragged her upright again, holding her on her knees so he was looking down into her pained green eyes. His mouth curled into a snarl, anger written all over his face, more than she'd ever seen before. 'You didn't deserve a second chance,' he snarled at her. 'You deserve to die.'_

She woke, tangled in her sheets, a cold sweat covering her skin. Her breath was coming in fast gasps, and she was having trouble getting enough oxygen. Panicked, she fell off the bed and tore the blankets off, stumbling from her room and down the hallway. Her hair was a mess and she was just wearing a tank top and shorts, but she didn't care, didn't have the capacity to care. She slammed a fist down on the up button, gulping in air and practically falling in when the doors opened.

"Jarvis, just take me up and down," he voice was hoarse and scratchy. "Just keep taking me up and down." She crawled into the corner, her hands trembling violently as she pulled her knees to her chest. She'd had terrible nightmares before, had terrible things done to her. She'd endured more tortures and more pain than they could dream of. But this scared her, shook her deep to her core in ways so much worse than death.

"Alright, Miss Romanoff," he said softly, silently taking her up. She rested her head on her knees, her entire body shaking as she made herself as small as possible.

It was hours later, when, too exhausted to move anymore, she'd fallen into a restless sleep, still curled in the corner of the small elevator. Her breathing was irregular but her eyes were closed, arms hanging loosely around her knees. The gentle rise and fall of the elevator rocked her to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**So I apologize for the fast moving pace and lack of detail. I'm working on several fanfictions and I'm just trying to get to the action! **

**Warning: There will be torture in this chapter.**

Natasha woke to the sound of her door opening. She silently slid a hand under her pillow, wrapping her fingers around the gun she always kept there. The door closed and she tensed, her eyes adjusting to the darkness and scanning the room. She heard a sound from the other side, her window, and saw a shadowy shape silhouetted against the outside sky. Cursing, she glanced towards the bathroom. From where she was, it would take exactly eleven seconds to get through to her secret escape route. She didn't have that long. A figure loomed towards her, tall and large, and she whipped her gun out, only to realize a split second later that he was wearing armour.

"Shit!" She hissed, whirling out of bed in a flash of blankets, kicking the legs out from under the first man, only to be grabbed from behind by another, a hand roughly covering her mouth. She kicked off the person, flipping over their head and onto the floor.

The minute she hit the ground she realized her mistake. She turned just in time for a fist to come out of no where, catching her on the jaw and knocking her backwards into the one that had grabbed her. The dark figure she had seen outside her window had made it inside while she'd been fighting the other two. Again the second guy grabbed her, this time twisting her arms violently behind her back. The window man approached, slamming an armoured arm into the side of her skull with such force that it nearly knocked her unconscious.

"Barton!" She yelled, stomping on the second man's foot and kicking him in the shins, making him drop her with a yelp of pain. Black Widow leapt at the third soldier, wrapping an arm around his head and squeezing to cut of his air supply, but almost immediately the first man grabbed her arm and yanked it backwards. Everyone in the room heard her shoulder pop out of place, and her sharp intake of breath. If they thought she would stop fighting then, they were sorely mistaken.

She dropped to the ground, flipping backwards into a standing position behind one of her assailants. Kicking the backs of his kneecaps, she grabbed him by the hair as he fell, slamming his head into the wall and knocking him out. "CLINT!" She screamed, but something in the pit of her stomach told her that he couldn't come to help her. Fire burned in her eyes as she leapt at the third man again, wrapping her legs around his neck and bringing her good fist down on the top of his head. He swayed, but reached up and grabbed her by the hair, pulling her away and throwing her against the wall. The assassin crashed into it and fell to the ground, already trying to get back to her feet when she was yanked up by the hair. A dark limb flew at her and hit her across the midsection, knocking her breath away. She twisted and kicked, but the one holding her was taller and had longer arms, and was holding her firmly away from his body. She pulled herself up on his arm so she supported her weight and not her hair, and bit down on his bare skin.

"AGHHH!" He yelled, releasing her hair and grabbing his bleeding arm with his other hand.

She took the opportunity to get back on her feet, grab his shoulders, and slam her knee up between his legs. He fell with a strangled cry, leaving just the third one- the man that had come through the window- remaining. He stepped over his fallen comrade, swiping for her with an ironclad fist. Agent Romanoff ducked, pushing off the wall to fly at him and hit him square in the chest with both feet. He staggered, but managed to grab her leg and pull her crashing down on the floor too. She tried to disentangle herself from him, but the guy kept a firm grip on her leg. She had the advantage of having fallen on top of him, but he had both arms wrapped around her knee, hugging it to his chest. She slammed her foot into his face, but although he cried out in pain, he didn't release her. She snarled angrily, slamming it down again, harder, until he finally let go and she pushed away from him, getting to her feet. It was then that she realized there was another person in the room.

Unfortunately, she figured this out when a heavy ceramic vase came crashing down on her head, and she crumpled to the floor as the world faded away.

Clint Barton came to a few hours later, sitting up instantly. He took a breath and coughed, tasting something foul in the air. He leapt out of bed, stumbling to the door and throwing it open. The distinctive taste of sleep gas was still heavy in his mouth, his head still swimming in fog.

"No no no dammit," he managed to get Natasha's door open and fumble his way inside. The room was a mess, toppled furniture, a dent in the plaster wall, blood on the floor. "NO GOD DAMMIT," he screamed, making his way down the hallway and kicking open Steve's door. The noise made the soldier jerk awake, his eyes wide as he raised a fist in defense. The room in here, too, tasted foul. "Out, we've been gassed," he panted, trying to breath as little as possible as he exited and crossed the hall to pull Banner too out of bed. He left the two of them to get Falcon and Thor and meet him upstairs, while he went to retrieve Tony.

Natasha groaned, her head throbbing, and raised her chin off her chest. She could tell that her arms and legs were cuffed to a chair, and after squirming to no avail, she realized the chair was also anchored to the ground. She opened her eyes, the bright light nearly blinding her after so much darkness. It took a minute to adjust, but the room eventually came into view. She was restrained to a reinforced chair, which was welded to a metal plate of the floor. The blank cement walls and bright overhead lights reminded her of a time she had been held and interrogated in Russia. It wasn't a pleasant memory.

Carefully she rolled her head around, then started to do damage assessment. Her shoulder was dislocated and her knee throbbed dully, but it would hold. She could tell by the sticky warmth at the top of her head that she was bleeding, and her shoulders and back were littered with shallow cuts. Her face was swollen badly along her jaw and cheek, but she was relatively whole. Her main concern was popping her shoulder back into place- fighting with a useless limb was not ideal. Unless she could get out of these cuffs, she'd need someone else to do it for her.

Black Widow's thoughts were interrupted as the heavy metal door in the corner opened, and three men entered the room. She could tell by the armour and strange clothing that they were indeed Asgardian, and none of them looked very happy.

"You took out three men in the tower and another three on the ride here," the tallest one said, glowering down at her.

"What can I say, I have that effect on people." She tilted her head so her hair fell out of her face and raised her chin defiantly.

"Where is Loki's scepter?" She kept her face expressionless, but inside her mind was whirring. After the battle of New York, S.H.I.E.L.D had confiscated the scepter. To her knowledge, it was still secured in the underground vaults the agency had all over the country. Loki would need it to bend more people to his will. After a moment, the man turned and nodded to the others, who left, and returned with a metal table on wheels. They pushed it into the room and returned to their positions guarding the door. She pretended to be bored. Gerd picked up a long knife, pressing the tip into her neck and dragging it down to her collarbone, drawing a line of red across her pale skin.

Suddenly, with no warning, he drove the knife through her abdomen, causing her to gasp and bite her tongue hard to keep from crying out. Her chest heaved as a bloody rose blossomed on her white tank top, spreading slowly over the fabric. The man examined her reaction, but didn't remove the knife. Instead, he took the handle and twisted it slowly, watching the colour drain from her face as she closed her eyes, refusing to make a noise. The captive's lips were pressed so hard together they were white, but when she opened her eyes, he was surprised and a little scared. He was used to seeing fear, pain, even tears in his victim's eyes. Hers, though, were full of a hatred that was so strong it nearly knocked him back. This was more than he had bargained for.

He hit her in her ribs, drew back, and hit again. He could feel bone breaking beneath his knuckles, and switched to her other side to do the same. Still, she showed no fear, uttered no cries of pain. This human had experienced much torture before, he knew, but Loki had been sure that his influences would get her to talk. He was starting to wonder if his king had been mistaken. She looked about ready to rip his face off, and he found himself once again eying her restraints nervously, as if any minute she would break free and attack him. It had taken four highly trained Asgard assassins to take her down, and on the journey here she had managed to take down another three despite being handcuffed and unarmed. Natasha Romanoff was known as the best assassin of Midgard, and it was becoming apparent that she was also better than any Asgardian.

Several hours later, Natasha still hadn't screamed or uttered a single sound. Her silent glaring hatred was starting to make all of the Asgardians antsy and uncomfortable, and they were all starting to fiddle nervously. Her shirt was soaked with blood, and the knife was still protruding from her stomach. The woman's face was bruised and bleeding, long gouges torn in her cheeks from spiked iron knuckles. Every breath she took was a new painful jab to her chest, and she knew several of her ribs were broken from where he had hit her. Her chest and shoulders were littered with deep deliberate cuts and bruises, and every time she took a breath fresh blood glistened on her skin. Gerd was just starting in on her dislocated arm when the door banged open, causing everyone to startle- except the hostage, who had heard the approaching footsteps. Loki stood in the doorway, dressed in his normal green and black robes and armour, his eyes narrowed.

"Ohh, you're really not looking too hot," he tsked, kicking the door shut and drawing closer, looking to her torturer. "Anything?" Gerd shook his head.

"No, my lord, she's proven quite difficult. She hasn't made a noise." The god of mischief hissed through his teeth, looking displeased but not at all surprised.

"I was hoping she would prove more cooperative, but I should have known better." He eyed her for another minute, then whipped out a phone. "Maybe our dear Avengers will be inclined to...spare you some extra pain." As always she kept her face unreadable, merely watching him with large green eyes, barely contained rage boiling inside her. It took everything she had not to try and break free and claw his eyes out, so she settled for picturing him going up in flames and writhing in pain instead.

Tony's phone rang, and he whipped it out, glancing at the others. The caller ID was unknown, and they were requesting a video call. After a nod from Bruce, he picked up. The screen turned black for a minute, and then Loki's face appeared, grinning.

"Hello, Stark, what a pleasure." Tony flicked his finger, causing the phone's screen to transfer to the large video screen in the living room, where they all were sitting.

"What do you want, assface," he snarled untactfully.

"Such anger, you should be more grateful towards me, Stark. I tried to save you. And doctor, you might as well stop, this phone is untraceable." Banner looked up at Tony, and shook his head. Steve crossed his arms over his chest.

"Where's Miss Romanoff, Loki," he hissed, getting straight to the point.

"Why, she's right here, but I don't think she wants to talk to you, she hasn't really been doing much of that." There was a scuffle and then the sickening crunch of knuckles hitting flesh. Barton was on his feet, his hands clenched into fists.

"I swear to god, Loki, if you've-" he was cut off.

"Honesty, Barton, have some self respect, you're on speaker. Would you like to see her?" Without waiting for a response, he turned the camera towards her. She looked like she'd been to hell and back. She was covered in her own blood, bruised and battered, with a knife sticking out of her stomach. Still she held her chin high, and they all knew she hadn't and wouldn't give Loki what he wanted, even if it killed her.

Anyone but Clint wouldn't have noticed the tiny twitches, the patterns to her blinking, or the slightest of motions she made, but he knew her better than he knew himself. She blinked four times rapidly to let him know there were four people in the room. Her left arm twitched, and that combined with the odd angle and dark bruising around her shoulder, he concluded that it was dislocated. The knife wound was obvious, but her breathing was too shallow for just that, broken ribs? Her three blinks confirmed it. He blinked twice to show he understood, trying to convey his anger and determination to get her out of there. Loki handed the phone to someone and came around so he was standing in the picture, behind Natasha.

"We thought we'd ask you for a little information." He picked up another knife, wiping the blade clean on a small hand towel. "I'd like to know the whereabouts of my scepter."

"We're not telling you squat," Falcon spat. Loki rolled his eyes, pressing the knife deep into the skin right below her collarbone, dragging it across from one shoulder to the other. The cut was deep, immediately spilling more blood down her front and she closed her eyes for a second.

"You sick sick bastard," they were all on their feet now.

"If you keep cutting her she's going to bleed out," Bruce glared at Loki, barely containing his anger. Tony muttered something, and he nodded, leaving the room. They didn't need him to hulk out right now.

"He's right," the god tapped his chin, placing the bloodied knife back on the tray. As if getting a brilliant idea, he picked up a bag, reaching his hand inside and pulling out a handful of large salt crystals. "I've never actually tried this before," he said conversationally, using two fingers to hold the cut wide open. "But I'm told it's excruciating." Loki started packing the salt into her wound, watching her as if he was conducting a science experiment. Her face remained stoic, her eyes narrowed to slits.

"Loki I'm going to motherfucking kill you," Hawkeye said levelly, trembling with rage. The Asgardian's face split into a maniacal grin.

"Don't worry, Agent Barton," he finished, a straight line of red stained salt crystals across her chest. "I'm not going to kill her." he took her chin in his fingers, running his index finger along her jaw. He turned to look at the screen, his grin wide. "You are."

"Loki, I thought you were misguided," Thor growled with disgust. "But no. Your mind is rotten to the core." His brother's smile faltered, replaced with anger. He looked back to his prisoner, raising a fist and punching her square in the face. He turned and walked around her, grabbing a fistful of Natasha's red curls and yanking her head up.

"You are the one that is misguided, Thor," he snarled. "For putting faith in such weak creatures as these." He shook her head hard before releasing her hair. He straightened, staring at the camera malevolently. "You will retrieve my scepter and call me back. She doesn't have time to waste."

The screen went black once more.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Their worst mistake was not feeding her. After a week and a half, she knew she could slip her hands out of the cuffs. From there it would be simple enough to pick the locks on her ankles and break out.

The past week Black Widow had barely slept at all, but even the Asgardian had to pause from torture to rest sometimes. He'd managed to put another knife through her and break another two ribs, but mostly she was freshly bruised and cut all over. At least she'd gotten enough water when he'd water boarded her, but since between moving her she managed to put one of the guards into a coma, he hadn't gone back to that option.

Now he had left her alone with one guard, who was staring absently at the far wall. This was her chance. As carefully and with as little movement at possible, she started sliding her hands free of the cuffs. It took her only a minute, but she had to stop and take a breath. There would only be a tiny amount of time for her to unlock her ankles before the guard came at her.

In one swift practiced motion, she pulled the bobby pin from her hair and went at her left cuff like a talented maniac. The guard was so shocked he didn't react for a second, staring blankly with his mouth slightly agape. But then he pulled his act together and ran at her as if to knock her over. Unfortunately, one ankle was still attached to the leg of her chair. He bowled into her, knocking her sideways and twisting her ankle, but his momentum carried him past her and sent him falling to the ground. That gave her the time she needed to break free of the other lock. The guy was on his feet again, a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier than her, but it didn't matter. Natasha leapt onto the chair and right at him, her good arm coming down on his skull with a sickening crunch. Not waiting for a response, she wrapped one leg around his neck and overbalanced him, crashing both of them to the floor and disentangling herself at the last second. She paused only to watch the light fade from his eyes before turning to look at the instrument tray.

Gerd had been stupid enough to leave it there, and so she took up the third of the same knifes she had in her abdomen, gripping it tightly. The door opened from the inside- it would be suicide to lock themselves in there with her- and so she slipped into the hallway with little difficulty, looking around. Since both hallways were identical, she took the left one, limping down it and turning at the corner. The walls were the same cement her cell had been made of, and she wondered briefly if they were underground. But when she reached the end of the next hall, there was a staircase, and it went down.

Another set of guards was waiting for her at the bottom of the staircase, but she had the higher ground. Her aim was excellent- the knife hit the first one in the throat and he collapsed, gasping like a fish out of water as blood poured down his chest. The other one tackled her, knocking the knives around painfully, but a strong elbow to his face helped her scramble to her feet before him, slamming a foot down on his throat and pressing until his eyes fluttered shut. Black Widow retrieved her weapon from the other one, whose eyes were wide and bulging as he fruitlessly tried to stop the bleeding. She looked down at him for a minute as if she was going to end his suffering, but then she turned and kept walking.

The assassin checked on her stomach wounds. The jostling had caused a small amount of fresh blood to trickle down her already red soaked shirt. She couldn't risk taking them out now, since skin was already healing around the blades, and it would just reopen the wounds. That would have to wait until she had help and a blood transfusion. For now her focus was getting out and back home.

It didn't take her long to find a door to the outside. She met five more guards on the way, but she was ready. By the time she kicked open the door to freedom, at least six Asgardians had been killed in her wake. It didn't matter to her, it was what she had been trained to do, and what she did best. It was them or her.

Outside she looked back at the building. It seemed to be an abandoned two story warehouse, but if she looked closely through the tinted windows, the lights were on inside. The little place was surrounded by rolling green hills dotted with trees, a cloudy grey sky going easy on her eyes. She started walking in the direction of telephone poles over the hills, constantly scanning for signs of life. A one lane asphalt road in need of serious repair wound its way sadly through the sea of green, and she followed it. Though the pain in her ankle was nothing compared to that of the rest of her body, it wasn't at full strength, and her limp became apparent after a while. Natasha's left arm hang useless at her side, and she still held the knife firmly in her right.

About an hour later she spotted a lone pickup truck making its way slowly towards her. She held out a thumb, and it slowed to a stop. A minute later the guy hopped out, tipping the brim of his baseball cap up so he could see.

"Miss, you ain't looking too, oh god, Miss, are you alright?" He hurried over to her, holding out a hand to offer assistance, which she waved off. He took in the sight of her, matted hair and beaten to a pulp, limping along with half her blood spilled down her front.

"Where am I?" She made her way over to the truck, and grudgingly accepted his help in hoisting her up into the seat. He closed the door and ran back around, leaping in and slamming the driver's door.

"You're in South Carolina, 'bout 60 miles from the nearest town. Miss, what happened to you?" She ignored his question.

"I need to make a phone call." He started up the car and fumbled a small cellphone out of his pocket, handing it over. "Thank you," she said curtly, reaching for her seatbelt then thinking better of it, instead pressing a hand to her stomach and dialing. Clint picked up.

"Hello?"

"Clint, it's me." She heard a clattering and him hurriedly pressing a button.

"Nat, god, are you okay? Where are you?"

"I'll survive. I'm in South Carolina, sixty miles outside of…" she looked to the driver. "Edgefield."

"Edgefield," she repeated. She heard hurried voices in the background.

"I can be there in an hour and a half, where?" Again she looked to the guy.

"110 Bauskett Street." She again reiterated what he had said.

"Is there enough room to land a small jet there?" The guy's eye's widened at her question, but he nodded.

"Yes ma'am."

"Okay, Tasha, I'm coming to get you. Stay safe." The call ended and she threw the phone onto his lap.

"Name's Ed by the way, yours?" He was playing with the brim of his hat.

"Natasha."

"Okay Natasha. Er…" he rubbed his head. "How did you get like this?"

"If I told you I'd have to kill you." Ed started to chuckle, saw her face, and stopped. They rode the rest of the way in silence, him humming to himself and sending her sidelong glances as the truck made its way over the hills.

They arrived only minutes before Barton. Ed lived on the outside of town, in a small blue house with a spacious yard neatly bordered by a white picket fence. He pulled into the long driveway, coming to a stop in front of a garage.

"Here we are, Miss. I got some little kids, so…" She cut him off.

"I don't need to come inside, my ride will be here any minute." Natasha pushed open the door and carefully got out. Ed came around the truck. "And thank you," she added as an afterthought.

"Course Miss, anytime." The man tipped his cap and left her standing in the driveway. She was watching the sky when a black dot came into view, quickly growing bigger and closer as she saw it transform into a sleek black plane. Moments later it had landed and rolled to a stop in the yard. Almost before it stopped, the hatch opened and Hawkeye jumped out, running over to her.

"Tasha, god, I'm sorry." It took all she had not to hug him, but that would just cause her even more pain. Instead she let him wrap her good arm around his shoulders and guide her into the plane. Once they were inside, they took off, set to autopilot to take them back home.

The small jet wasn't made for comfort. They sat on one of the hard chairs on the sides of the plane. Black Widow rested her head in his lap, stretching out on the bench with a grimace. He brushed the hair ever so gently out of her eyes, careful not to hurt her bruised and bloodied face. Nor for the first time she wondered how he was able to shoot someone through the heart with his arrow, but still be so…..soft, when he wanted. All her life they'd taught her she was a killer, a weapon, nothing else. Barely human, they'd called her. Barton gave her hope that someday she could be more.

"Tasha, you can get some sleep," he said quietly. "You're safe." She nodded gratefully. There wasn't much he could do to help her until they got back, and all she really wanted to do was drift off for a while. She slid her good arm up and he took her hand, slipping his fingers through hers, his grip strong and warm. It made her feel safer. In only minutes she had fallen into a deep sleep.

Natasha slept all the way to Stark Towers, and only woke hazily to find herself being carried inside. Her muscles tensed before she realized it was Barton holding her, and then they had entered the living room.

"Is she okay?" She turned her head enough to see the rest of them standing in the living room, Pepper talking with her arms crossed. Clint set her down gently on the couch.

"Banner, she needs medical attention." Bruce scratched his head and adjusted his glasses.

"It'd really be better to go to a hospital," he muttered. Natasha and Barton both glared at him while he squirmed. "I just don't have everything they do!"

"I'll get you everything you need," he set up some pillows to make her more comfortable then crossed his arms over his chest.

"She's got serious abdominal wounds, she's going to need surgery, it's a miracle she's even lived this long," the Hulk tried. Black Widow shook her head carefully.

"He knew what he was doing, he wanted me to live," she coughed, spitting blood out onto her hand before continuing. "They didn't hit any organs, I'm positive." Steve hurried to her, carrying a cup of water, which she sipped gratefully. Finally Banner broke and went off with Hawkeye to get supplies, leaving her to drift back to sleep.

Natasha was sitting up on the couch, Banner kneeling on the floor in front of her. Steve, Pepper, Thor, and Falcon were all gathered around at a respectful distance, looking concerned. Tony was sprawled on the other couch, and Hawkeye was sitting next to her. The doctor was busy hooking her up to an IV, which was hanging from a stolen drip pole.

"I still don't think this is a good idea," he muttered, fiddling with a shot of morphine.

"No morphine," they said at the same time, causing him to blink and look up.

"No morphine? Why? How am I supposed to god damn work?" The two assassins exchanged a dark look.

"You do not want to see her on morphine," he shook his head. "It gets bad." Tony was sitting up, looking interested.

"What kind of bad?" She shot him a look that could freeze fire, and Pepper narrowed her eyes from across the room.

"You aren't giving me morphine if you want to keep your reproductive organs," she hissed when he held up the needle in frustration. Hawkeye dug around in another bag and pulled out a few bottles of pills, shaking them. He glanced at her while jiggling a few of each into his palm, nodding at her for confirmation.

"Hey, you can't just give her a bunch of pills, she could overdose," Banner protested weakly.

"We're partners, we know each other's doses," he replied calmly, handing the medicine to her and watching her swallow. There wasn't much the doctor could do, and it was true that the guy knew her better than he did.

"Fine, we're going to start at the worst and work our way down. If you're right that it didn't hit any organs, we won't need to do surgery, but there'll still be bleeding." His brow furrowed. "And I'll have to pull it out the exact same way it went in."

"No," she shook her head yet again, looking a bit dizzy for it but shaking it off. "It won't matter." At his confused look she rolled her eyes. "He twisted them." Over in the corner, the Falcon looked mixed between wanting to puke and wanting to punch something, and the rest of them were wearing similar expressions.

"Ah." He was pulling on rubber gloves. "Well, what's your blood type?" Clint held up a bag of 0 negative in response, hanging it and putting it too into her arm.

"You're making me feel like _you're _the doctor," Banner muttered, gripping the hilt of the first knife. He started pulling it out slowly, having Clint hold a wad of gauze underneath the wound as blood started to flow. Her face was expressionless, but Hawkeye knew the pain medicine hadn't yet kicked in. She was too well trained to show any weakness, but he knew her too well to be fooled.

Oblivious, Banner removed the first knife and carefully did the second one. They cut away the tank top, which was beyond repair anyways, to better get to her wounds. There was barely a spot on her skin that wasn't bruised and cut. Clint was holding gauze to the two holes in her stomach while the doctor threaded a needle to stitch them up, but her entire abdomen was some shade of black to green with crusted blood over some parts. The darkest bruising on her torso was along her broken ribs, dark purple lines of tender skin. The previous neckline of her tank top was apparent, showing when the bruising turned to bruising and long deep cuts, most prominent of which was the thick straight cut running from shoulder to shoulder.

Pepper looked away while Bruce stitched her wounds, moving on to wrap her ribs with thick white bandages. She was wearing a sports bra, which he carefully worked around while fixing up her ribs so they'd heal properly. He cleaned out each cut with disinfectant and a good number of them needed stitches, including the long one and the gash across her cheekbone. When he'd finally finished stitching she looked like purple frankenstein.

"I've got to set the shoulder," he mumbled, putting his hands in place to push it back in. "Ready?" She nodded, and he quickly popped her shoulder back into place, not getting a sound from her. Banner put her arm in a sling and looked up at her questioningly.

"My ankle," she muttered. Hawkeye unzipped her combat boots and rolled her socks off. One of her ankles was puffy pink and swollen, and both had cuts from where the cuffs had dug into her. The doctor wrapped up her foot, then also bandaged her other ankle and wrists so the cuts from the restraints would heal. Finally he stood up.

"How does that feel?"

"Fine, thank you, Bruce," she said quietly, patting his arm lightly. Wordlessly Pepper trotted over holding a bowl of soup.

"You need to adjust slowly to eating," she said, handing Hawkeye the bowl. He sat down next to her, holding it out so she could use the spoon to eat it slowly. She was too tired to argue. Natasha paced herself, when all she really wanted to do was wolf down everything in the kitchen. Instead she settled for finishing the small bowl of soup.

Afterwards she was so exhausted it was all she could do to keep her eyes open. Always alert to her body language, Hawkeye stood up and helped her lay back down on the couch, pulling a soft blanket over her.

"Keep this arm up," he pulled the arm with the IV to rest above the blanket, giving her a small smile. "The last time I spent an hour untangling these." She snorted sleepily but kept her arm out as he had instructed. Clint hung a fresh bag and gave her more pain medicine, adding sleeping pills too. She took them obediently, glad that she would be able to rest. The effect was almost immediate, causing her eyelids to droop and her limbs to feel heavy. Vaguely she registered Tony and Pepper heading off to bed together, and a while later Bruce, the Falcon, and Steve left also. Barton had settled on the couch with her head in his lap, his ever comforting presence lulling her closer to the brink of sleep. Thor too had left now, and Jarvis had turned off the lights. Moonlight spilled from the outside across the carpet, illuminating the room in a warm milky glow.

She looked up at Barton, whose expression was soft and gentle. She knew he would stay awake and alert, and the sense of security that it brought her outweighed the feelings of guilt that he wouldn't sleep. She gave him one of her small smiles, the ones he said she used too rarely, to let him know how grateful she was. He knew. And with that comforting thought, she drifted off to sleep. Though eventually her normal nightmares took over, she first dreamed of floating gently down a river, one as clear and crystal blue as Clint's eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4:**

It was a week later, and Natasha was already working hard to get back to her full strength. When she was given a normal recovery time, it was customary for her to cut that into a sixth and give herself only that. She was up before dawn in the mornings in the training room, and it wasn't long before Clint joined her. The others had protested, telling her that she wasn't well enough, but he just quietly helped her. He understood that she didn't have time to rest up and heal like normal people. It meant weakness, and in their line of work, weakness meant death.

It was the second week since Black Widow's return, and there had been no sign of enemy activity on the radar. The others had finally agreed to let them go things out on their own, only after reassurance that they would call for backup if they found anything.

So now the two assassins were flying low over South Carolina in the sleek black plane, scanning the hills below for the building where Natasha had been held. Barton glanced sideways at her from his position in the pilot's seat. Much of her bruising had faded, and all that remained was around her wrists and ribs. The many cuts were turning into thick pink scars, which would eventually fade into thin silvery ones and join the many other scars she had already. She was back in spiff fighting shape, but he could tell that her ribs continued to pain her. Still, Clint knew she was back, and they were both itching to do something about Loki.

Natasha wanted to search the building, even though it was likely the so called king had moved his operations when she had escaped. It was possible he had left something behind, either on purpose or on accident, and she intended to discover it. So they found themselves zooming over green countryside early in the morning, before the sun had risen. It didn't take them long to find it, the only structure for miles around. Clint steered them into a perfect landing, bouncing for a bit before finally rolling to a stop.

They strode across the green grass to the building, alert and watchful as always. It wasn't a good sign that the door was unlocked, but they went inside anyway. To each side there was a set of stairs, one still crusted with blood. With a nod, Natasha took one staircase and Barton took the other. They scanned the entire building, and ended up standing in the hallway outside a thick metal door. It was the last room to be searched, and Natasha's previous cell was the most likely place for Loki to leave them a message. They stood in silence for a moment, then in silence, Natasha opened the door and stalked inside.

The room hadn't been cleaned since she'd been there. The tray of bloody instruments was still on the small table, and the cement floor was stained with her blood. Black Widow kicked the table aside, kneeling down to pick up the piece of paper lying on the ground. Barton followed her inside, taking in the room without saying anything. She stood back up, holding the paper as her eyes slid across the page. Clint came over to read over her shoulder.

'Dearest Miss Romanoff,

I hope you are well. Don't think it's going to be so easy to find me, you must know by now that I am too smart for that. I presume Barton is there too, aren't you, Clint. Don't worry, you'll be seeing me soon enough, my friend.

And Miss Romanoff, don't go forgetting what I told you. I keep my promises.'

She looked sideways at Hawkeye quickly, fearing the worst. His eyes were an electric blue, too light, too bright.

"Shit," she dropped the note and raised her hands just above her head, taking a step backwards. "Clint, it's me, okay?" Natasha ducked his fist only to be caught by the second punch to her stomach. "Clint," she persisted, staring into his eyes, trying to find the person she knew inside them. His eyebrows were knit together, both in confusion and anger. Still he pushed her, forcing Natasha to keep stepping back. "Barton, listen to me," this time when he moved towards her she stepped forwards instead of back, coming only inches away from him. "Listen to me," she grabbed his face in her hands, cupping it. "You don't want to hurt me, it's me, Natasha."

"Natasha?" His eyes flashed back, but then he grabbed her by the hair and yanked her head up, his gaze once again too blue to really be him. Black Widow didn't release her grip on his face, continued to meet his angry gaze unblinkingly.

"Clint, this isn't you," she said quietly. He threw her sideways, but she caught herself and flipped back into an upright position, once again raising her hands. "I don't want to fight you," she took a step towards him. "You don't want to hurt me, either," the red head added calmly, tilting her head at him. She could see the muscles rippling uncertainly in his arms, as if he was both trying to strangle her and restrain himself from doing so. Instead he took a blind swing at her, which she easily avoided.

"CLINT!" Her sudden outburst startled him, the anger drained from his eyes, replaced by confusion and a touch of fear. The blue of his irises crackled with different shades of blue, fighting to envelop each other. The assassin took the opportunity to slap him across the face, hard. He turned his head with the blow, raising one hand to his cheek in surprise as light blue won the battle in his eyes.

"Tasha?" His voice was small, uncertain, and instead of saying anything, she merely hugged him tightly, running her hand over his head soothingly. He wrapped his arms around her waist and buried his face in her hair, letting the smell of her wash over him. Her scent matched her personality, not sweet like many other women he had met. She smelled sharp, like the cold air when stars were out, the fresh smell that came after the rain.

They remained that way for a while, and when they broke apart there were no words to be exchanged, no excuses to be explained. The two assassins had a mutual understanding of the way things worked in their little word, and they understood each other so well that it was almost as if they could read each other's minds. She picked up the note and tucked it into a pocket, giving the room one more look before nodding at him. Together they left the building, the sun now peeking over a hill in the distance. She watched him carefully the whole way back. It was the first time that Loki had 'spoken' to him directly, but since Barton hadn't received any type of orders from him, she didn't think the episodes would become more regular. Still, Natasha was going to have to keep a closer eye than usual on her partner. She couldn't let the god of mischief get to him again.

"What!?" Steve snarled, taking a step towards Barton, his fists clenched so hard his knuckles were turning white. Black Widow took a step in front of the assassin, something so cold and so angry in her gaze that it froze everyone where they were.

"Don't even _start,"_ she hissed, crossing her arms over her bruised ribs.

"He's hurting you," the man exclaimed, throwing his hands up in frustration. "I can't let him-," he was cut off.

"You don't _let _him do a thing, Rogers," her eyes were shooting daggers at him. "Don't think for a _second_ that this has anything to do with you. This is my problem."

"When it comes to your safety it's our job to-," again she interrupted, stepping dangerously close to him.

"I don't need a babysitter, soldier, and I don't need your protection. Don't think for a second I couldn't kill you with both hands tied behind my back and dead blind." She jammed a finger into his chest. "If you try to so much as harm a hair on his head, I will not hesitate to put you in a hospital bed for months." Thor grabbed Captain America by the shoulder and tugged him back to a safe distance.

The crew had once again gathered in the spacious living room for the pair's return, and it had finally come out that Hawkeye was having temporary spells of loyalty to Loki. For the moment he had regained his composure, but his eyes showed how much he was hurting. Natasha's heart rate was racing, and she looked about ready to make good on her words.

"She doesn't mean it, Steve," Thor clapped him on the back painfully, while the woman in question's eyebrow twitched with displeasure. Though disgruntled, Steve nodded to her.

"Alright, I understand he's your partner, I'm sorry for my reaction." If he expected her to apologize as well, he was mistaken. Instead she gave him a small nod, and glanced around at the others.

"Anyone else got a problem?" No one answered, so she pulled out the piece of paper and passed it around. After Tony finished reading it, he looked up.

"I can't be the only one wondering what 'promise' he means, can I?" They shrugged and all eyes turned to her.

"It's not important," she answered, stone faced. It wasn't therapy time, and she wasn't about to bare her soul to them. They were friends, and she trusted them with her life, but nothing as personal as her past. There was only one person on Earth that knew as much or more about her than she did, and that was Hawkeye. "All you need to know is that he promised to kill me."

"Fantastic," the Falcon muttered, taking a seat on the sofa and rubbing a hand over his hair, thinking. "If he wants to take over the world, where would he start?" Pepper chewed on her lip, letting Tony wrap one arm around her waist.

"Well I would start at the government, right?" Tony nodded slowly, considering his options carefully.

"Well he wants to do it in a way that will affect us the most, right? I mean, the dude probably wants to lock us all in steel cages and torture us." Pepper paled and he rubbed her back comfortingly. "Not you, just us." Thor rolled his eyes.

"Loki will wish to make this personal, I agree. He'd like to get back at us, which means a power play that we lose. My guess is that he will bring the fight home, right where it hurts." Tony glanced at him, confused.

"Wait like, New York? Shouldn't he have learned by now that it's our city? You'd think after the first time he'd get the message and start with something exotic like Vegas, but..." he trailed off at the bored look on all of their their faces. The Avengers slowly seated themselves, Hawkeye and Natasha the only two not relaxing, as alert and uptight as ever.

"We need a plan of action," Steve commented, earning an eye roll from Iron Man.

"No shit Sherlock, way to state the obvious," he grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Tony we don't have time for you to be childish," Natasha snapped, receiving blessed silence. "Loki wants to take over the world in the most personal and painful way he can." No one teased her for stating the obvious. It wasn't a risk worth taking.

"Is there any way to track him?" Everyone looked at the scientist with extreme anger management issues, who adjusted his glasses thoughtfully.

"I mean, is there anything we can track him with, anything unique?" Thor rested his elbows on his knees with a distant look in his eyes, thinking.

"I don't believe Loki has anything on his person particularly unique to this world," he said eventually. "But he wants his scepter, right?" Barton started typing quickly into a small phone sized device.

"And that's being held…" they all waited. "In a secret underground SHIELD tunnel system under Vermont." They no longer questioned the organization's knack for completely random quarters and tunnels.

"Do we want to try and get it first?" Tony sat back, casually slinging an arm over Pepper's slim shoulders.

"Won't he be expecting that?" Steve threw back.

"I think we should get it before him," Samuel shrugged.

"Why should we care what you think?" Captain America stiffened, but his friend smiled calmly at Stark, in a way that said 'I'm willing to play by your rules.' The billionaire sniffed but didn't continue, for which everyone was grateful.

"I think it would be safer with us," Thor said quietly, watching them all while resting his chin in his hands.

"So we go get it," Natasha stated, sparing a look at her partner who nodded.

"Any volunteers on who wants to run this little plan by Fury or are we going under the radar?"

"Please, Fury doesn't exactly have his organization together," she rolled her eyes. "Barton and I can get in and out in no time." Steve looked up.

"Why are you assuming you'll go alone?"

"I don't know, because we're the ones trained in covert operations, we're employees of S.H.I.E.L.D and know Fury personally? Or maybe because we've been there before, or we actually know what the hell we're doing," Hawkeye said coolly.

"Afraid he's got you there Steve." Tony gave him a look. "If anyone can get in and out in time, it's those two." He leaned closer. "Plus, she could kick your ass, and I don't think she's in a good mood." The look she gave him told the man that she not only was the most skilled assassin in the world, but she also had remarkable hearing. "Oops."

Steve sat back in his chair, deciding to try and swallow his pride. "Alright, we'll do things your way this time. Plan of action is get in, get the staff and get back out. I've got every confidence that you two can do that no problem."

Natasha and Clint looked to each other, not needing to say a word right away about their plan of action.

"We'll be back in time for dessert easy," Clint said in a light tone. Natasha gave him a look and rolled her eyes, heading towards the elevator to prepare herself.

"Alright, while they are doing that, Bruce and I will begin working on a way to try and combat Loki's latest little scheme." Tony stood up from the table, looking to Pepper for a moment. "Afraid it'll be a late night."

"That's alright, I need to prepare for an upcoming meeting myself. You two have fun with your tech." She smiled as she stood up, walking off to take a shower.

"Then the rest of us will stay on standby and keep an eye out for anything out of the ordinary, and see if we can find anything on Loki." Steve stood up from the table, making his way with Thor and Falcon to watch the monitors for any signs of activity. They settled in, prepared for a long day, while the two scientists hurried off to their lab.

They weren't home by dessert.

Natasha and Clint set off later that afternoon, once again seated in the small black plane. This time she was flying, watching the ground closely as they neared their destination. Her partner was rubbing his head with a look of pain on his face, eyes closed. The headache had been plaguing him all day, and it was just now starting to get worse to a point where she had forced him to take medicine. They hadn't talked at all during the flight- his pain had been too much for him to concentrate- so as she cleared her throat, he looked up with surprise.

"You're not going in." Hawkeye let his hand fall away from his head in order to stare at her.

"Like hell I'm letting you go in there alone," he replied, trying to keep anger from creeping into his voice. She merely looked back at the land below, steering them slightly East.

"It's not a question, Clint," she said quietly, her eyes still on the monitor. "You're not in shape right now, you can hardly see straight." He opened his mouth to argue, but nothing came out. "I'll be fine on my own, you know that." She turned to look at him, her dazzling green gaze meeting his equally bright blue one.

"I know," he murmured, glancing at his shaking fingers. "I'd be a liability." There was silence for a moment as the plane descended smoothly. "I just…" their eyes locked, blue swimming in deep green rivers between them. She rested a hand on his shoulder, ever so gently. The strength was there, but it was...soft. He felt his skin tingle as he put his hand on top of her small one, squeezing it.

"It's ok, Clint," her voice was as soft as her touch, a weakness she had only for him. No one else knew this side of her, the one that wasn't so protected, so strong.

So instead of using words, like most people, they already knew what the other was thinking. He trusted her with his life, his sanity, and everything he had. It was both a blessing and a curse, because to have such a weakness in their work could be deadly. For some reason, he didn't care. It was a lonely life they lived, and he'd rather it be shorter with her, then longer without. And despite everything he'd learned, there wasn't anything he couldn't trust her with, anything he wouldn't do for her.

_Flashback._

The day he'd been sent to kill her, he had smashed through the window of her hotel room, gun raised, and the woman he saw wasn't nearly what he had expected. Her target lay dead on the bed, eyes glassy and unseeing, clothes tousled. She was young, maybe sixteen, but from the way her cheeks were painfully red and she was tugging her shirt back on, the forty something man had taken her forcefully back to his room. He had raised his weapon, quickly calculated his shot, and then froze. She was staring at him with an unusual look in her shockingly green eyes, curly red hair falling over the bruised side of her face. She was packing major heat, but she made no move for her weapons. From what the young archer had learned of his target, she was the better assassin of the two, and probably the best in the world, even then. There wasn't much on her, only that the agency she worked for was neither good to their victims or their employees, and that she had taken down a S.H.I.E.L.D agent a month back, not unusual for her hit list. It was time to put her away, and Barton had been their only option. So there he stood, his feet crunching glass, sleek pistol aimed straight between her large green eyes.

A seemingly cold blooded killer, emotionless in her tasks, stared straight into the barrel of his gun, unafraid. Slowly her eyes moved upward to meet his, her face expressionless. There was something pained in those eyes, tired beyond her years, but no fear.

"Do it," she whispered, her Russian accent apparent in her words. She raised her hands to shoulder height, squared her shoulders, unblinking.

He was taken by surprise. She could have killed him, or at least incapacitated him long enough to escape, but instead she abandoned her weapons, abandoned her talents, and faced death straight on. This wasn't someone who took pleasure in her work, or in returning to her agency after a successful mission. He had never seen someone so strong, and yet so broken.

In that moment, eighteen year old Clint Barton made a choice that he had never made before. He lowered his gun.

"No," he said, meeting her gaze with a determination he had never felt before.

And in that instant, both of their lives changed forever.

Natasha left Barton in the plane, which was well hidden by Starks genius invisibility shielding. He had made no further protests to remaining behind, as long as she remained in contact.

Black Widow slid through the doorway of the barn, allowing it to creak shut behind her. She first scanned for threats, but the bales of hay and dull pitchforks seemed innocent enough. She had already staked out exits in the split second it took for her eyes to adjust, and in an instant she was moving again.

From memory, she knew that the entrance to the tunnel system was a trapdoor in the far right corner, so that's where she headed. Sure enough, after heaving a pile of hay aside, a thick set metal door revealed itself. Natasha knelt in the dust, putting her face up close. The retinal scanner whirred to life, identified her, and the keypad clicked open for her passcode and clearance level. She tapped the codes in at lightning speed, and with a sliding of heavy bolts, the distinct 'click' of the lock could be heard.

"Thank you, Miss Romanoff," said a smug voice from behind her. Unfortunately for Loki, she had already heard the creak of the door when he entered, and in one swift movement, she yanked the trapdoor open and slammed it back shut, locking it again. The god bared his teeth in frustration, motioning to his guards to grab her. . Immediately she spun with one leg out, hitting one man in the ankles and toppling his balance, allowing her to spring up, grab his head, and slam it into the ground. The second man grabbed her around the waist from behind, holding her off the ground and wrapping his free hand around her neck.

Natasha kicked him between the legs, diving out just in time not to be crushed as he fell, clutching his lower region with a groan. A fist flew at her, catching the side of her face. She grabbed the arm, twisted it so he yelped, and used it to swing herself off the ground. Her flying body caught him and quick as lightning she wrapped a leg around his neck, flipping him onto his back and jumping away to land on her feet. The second soldier had recovered himself enough to lunge at her, using his body mass to tackle her to the floor. Thrin slammed a fist into her face, letting his anger get the better of him as he pressed a knee into her throat, cutting off her air and making her splutter. He hit her a few times, shifting his weight a bit, and in doing so, unknowingly brought his own doom upon himself. For the second time in the past thirty seconds or so, she slammed her leg into his groin, harder this time, and rolled them over to release herself from the practically bawling Asgardian. It took another kick to the head to silence him, almost mercifully, at which point the spy spotted another figure lumbering towards her from the left. Without blinking she whipped out her gun and fired. Her aim was impeccable- right between the eyes- and he fell back, the life fading from his eyes. She didn't pause to consider her kill, since that would be like stopping to wonder about tying shoelaces- something that comes naturally, without thought.

She heard Barton before she saw him. It had only taken her a few seconds to realize that Clint not coming running at the sounds of fighting was a bad thing, so when she turned to see his electric blue gaze, Natasha wasn't shocked. It was her fault for leaving him alone, susceptible to Loki's schemes. She blamed herself, even though one of the first things she had been taught was, '_guilt towards the enemy is handing them a sword with which to stab you.'_

This time he wasn't blindly lashing out at her, his movements were those that he had developed over time from years and years of training. There wasn't a way for her not to fight back- she could always beat him in a fight, but he had the advantage over her here. While she didn't wish to hurt him, he had no such boundaries, and as he swung his fists at her face, she knew he _wanted_ to hurt her. Black Widow ducked, dropping to the ground and sweeping her leg quickly around at his ankles, swiftly rolling before his kick could hit her, and leaping up behind him. Hawkeye was ready, turning and head-butting her in the face. She returned the action, harder-she had taught the move to him, after all- causing him to step backwards. He grabbed her by the shoulders and threw her down, but she flipped back into a standing position almost immediately and sprinted at him, ramming Hawkeye in the chest.

Clint stumbled a few steps but regained his footing, throwing a punch at her, which she ducked easily.

"Clint, fight it," she hissed, sending a punch of her own. He caught her hand and twisted her wrist around, grabbing a handful of her hair in his other fist and yanking her head back. "Clint," she pressed her free hand to his neck, cutting off his oxygen. "You're stronger than this." He was forced to release her and rip her hand off his neck, at which point she kicked his knee cap, jumped over his counter kick and ducked his flying fist, moving as gracefully as a dancer as she did. She ran up the wall and kicked off, flying at him and wrapping her legs around his neck, bringing him down to the ground in one practiced movement. The second he fell Hawkeye pushed himself back up, kicking her legs out from underneath her. She rose only to be slammed up against the wall, his face right in hers. "Barton," she glared into those angry eyes, the wrong colour. "I know you're in there."

In response he punched her in the face. She grabbed his arm and bit it, using the slight automatic recoil as her opportunity to slip down and out from under him, jumping on his back and wrapping her arms around his neck. Hawkeye grabbed onto her arms and flipped her over his head, but she landed on her feet and punched him in the face before he could even react.

It was hard to fight a person trying to do you damage when you didn't want them hurt. Natasha had been in this situation several times before- always with Clint- and it didn't get any easier. Still, she had always been better than her partner. Not to say he wasn't good, because he was. Probably second best in the world, as assassins go. But her training hadn't just been drilled and practiced into her head, it had been tortured into it. The psychological, emotional, and physical effects of so much pain were devastating, but her skills _were_ better than anyone elses. Even so, Loki was too smart to bring only three guards. Twelve more entered to assist in her capture. Natasha managed to kill six of them and knock out two others, but the four remaining giants used their mere mass to hold her down while Barton hit her in the face, yanking her arms back and cinching strong cuffs so tightly that they cut her wrists.

He pulled her up roughly after securing her ankles, bringing her to stand in front of Loki. Natasha stood, seething, but her expression was unreadable. The god took her chin in his hand, tilting it up and forcing her to look up at him. As a response, she spat in his face. Barton immediately punched her in the face, grabbing her by the hair and slamming her head into the wall so hard it nearly knocked her unconscious. The spy slid to her knees, already getting back to her feet when his foot slammed down on the back of her head, pressing her cheek into the ground.

"Don't move," he said coldly, and she knew his arrow was aimed at her heart. She did as he instructed, and after a minute, the four guards were ordered to take her back to their plane, so they grabbed her arms and led her forcefully from the room.

Once they were outside again she attacked. It was hard to fight in cuffs, her body was throbbing from the blows, but she still managed to wrap her chains around one guards neck and suffocate him, despite the other three pulling and punching at her. Finally he dropped to the ground, her on top, and they managed to yank her away. Zaneth felt his friend's neck, then glared at the woman.

"You killed him." He rose to look down at her, anger in his eyes. "My friend." Without warning his leg shot out and caught her in the ribs, an already weak bone snapping again. The other guards closed in.

"The king said to take you to the plane...he didn't say conscious." Zaneth grinned wickedly, and rolled up her sleeves.

Natasha Romanoff had been tortured and beat many times before, and she knew the drill. She was on the ground, in chains, with three much larger guys standing too closely to supply room for movement. Black Widow could handle a beating. She carefully curled herself up tighter, to protect the vital things more. The guards took this as a sign of weakness, but she couldn't be bothered to care what they thought. She had to stay with Clint, to protect him and help him, whether or not that meant being with Loki or being tortured, she didn't care. She was not about to let her partner slip through her fingers again. She wouldn't run, and she couldn't fight, so she settled with the comforting thought that she would kill all of them later, and more importantly, Hawkeye wouldn't be alone this time.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"What to do with you…" Clint Barton was pacing back and forth before his partner, who was chained to a similar chair to the one she had been held in before. Again Natasha was looking beat, but not as badly as last time. Three of her ribs had been broken, her cheek was bruised, she had a deep cut in her head and her lip was bleeding, but it was nothing compared to the numerous guards she had taken out.

This time her cuffs were on long chains attached to the floor, and the chair she was sitting in was welded to the floor. He walked over and lifted her off the floor where his previous kicking had landed her, wrapping one hand around her neck and the other arm around her waist. It was a dangerous situation for her- fighting could mean further entangling herself in the chains, which were already tight enough to be cutting her. Barton threw her at the wall, which she hit, but before she could right herself he had picked her back up and pushed her back against the metal.

"Clint," she looked up at him, her eyes narrowed slightly. "Clint, fight him." In response he threw the spy again, making her fly so far across the room that the chains yanked her back, twisting her limbs painfully. She leapt back to her feet immediately. "Clint, this isn't you. I know you're in there, I know you." He grabbed the chains and pulled her to him, yanking her chin up.

"You know me?" Hawkeye shook the woman. "You don't know a thing about me, you don't know who I am, what I can do to you," he smiled malevolently.

"Barton, I'm your partner," she rested her palms on his chest. "You're my partner." He threw her again. This time, he had the advantage. She only had a half a foot of chain between her ankles and wrists, and a few feet of space to move in that. He had the height and weight advantage over her as well, and the fact that she didn't want to hurt him and he wanted to hurt her.

"You're my partner?" He picked her back up again and pushed her into the chair, forcing Black Widow to sit and clamping the extra cuffs onto her arms and legs to hold her. "Really?" His hand came across her face, turning it away with the blow, and again. "All you do is lie, Romanoff." He hit her again and turned his back on her, pacing away. Her large green eyes watched him retreat.

"Yes. I lie, but not to you," she said quietly. "I never lie to you." He turned to glare at her.

"And I'm supposed to believe that. It's just another lie." She studied him.

"This isn't you talking, Clint. You don't mean this. You don't want to hurt me, either.

"I don't? How do you know? " He smirked, an unusual expression on his face.

"Because you're my best friend," Natasha said calmly. "You're my only friend. I trust you." He stared at her for a minute, then said harshly,

"Liar." And left the room.

Clint Barton returned carrying a chair in one hand and a red hot poker in the other. The door closed before she could take in anything in the hallway, and then it was just them again.

"Remember these?" He set his chair in front of her and sat heavily, running a gloved finger over the handle.

"Yes," she said, inscrutable as always. He set the rod aside and pulled out a knife, cutting from the neckline of her catsuit all the way down the arms, not bothering to stop the knife from cutting into her skin as well. The material fell away so that her arms were exposed, giving him more to work with. "Barton, listen to me, you don't have to-" she was cut off when he hit her across the face again.

"I don't want to hear your excuses yet," he snarled, getting right up in her face. "Not until you're begging for mercy." Natasha slammed her head into his as hard as she could, hoping to jostle his brain as she had done last time. He countered by punching her in the face with a grimace.

"I don't beg."

"You will."

"Clint-," she was again stopped mid-sentence, this time as her capturer lowered the burning metal to her skin.

Clint dragged the poker along the length of one arm, his gaze locking hers in a fierce battle. Almost lovingly he slid the poker along her collarbone- right over the scar already there from Loki- and down her other arm.

"You've already got many burn scars," his lips twitched upwards in enjoyment as he surveyed her face for signs of pain. There were none. "Oh, you've had nightmares about the KBG, they liked burning you, didn't they?" He changed to make long slashes along her arms, leaving already cauterized cuts in his wake.

"Barton, listen to me," she was ignoring everything he said, staring into his face. "It's me, you don't want to do this." Angrily he slashed the iron across her face, leaving a thick red line from her ear to her chin.

"Don't I though," he said, smiling as he regained control of his temper.

"No," she said stubbornly, setting aside the pain for another time and focusing her attention on him. Clint's eyes were electric blue, glazed over. Though he smiled as he moved the metal, those soul searching green eyes of hers found something else hidden in his- fear, anger, and shock. It only helped to confirm in her mind that he was still in there. After all, Loki wanted to hurt her partner as much as her, and forcing him to torture her could destroy Barton.

"Clint, it's okay," Natasha said, talking directly to the real him. "It's okay, it's not you, just keep fighting him, okay?" The fist hit her across the face again, making her nose bleed, but she ignored it. "We'll get you back, hang in there." The monster possessing her best and only friend- she refused to think of it as Hawkeye- snarled angrily and punched her in the face again.

"Stop it," he growled darkly, moving his poker to burn a bullet sized hole in her abdomen. "There's no point, there is no 'other me'." She raised a dark red eyebrow.

"Then why is it upsetting you so much?" Her chest rose and fell too steadily, practiced, the only sign that she was in pain. No one else would have noticed, but he did, and it made him smile. The poker was pushed between her two ribs, one of which was broken. It was right above her liver so as to avoid internal bleeding, and stave off death, but right into her muscle so as to cause as much pain as possible. Hawkeye was nothing if not creative. The heat caused the wound to cauterize, which made bleeding minimal, which in turn made it easier to stay conscious.

Only when she felt-in excruciating detail- the tip of the poker pierce through the skin of her back, did he finally withdraw it. Natasha allowed herself a moment of silence, to fully enjoy not having a red hot poker shoved through her- before locking gazes with him once more.

"Barton," she said calmly. "You keep fighting him, I'll-" she was cut off when he hit her across the face again. "You keep fighting him, I'll find a way to help you." She knew that behind the mask of her captor, her partner was being held, just as much a victim as she was. It was one of Barton's worst fears, not being able to control himself. Coupled with hurting her, he would finally have a nightmare to top all other nightmares for years to come.

She understood this about him, and looked him in the eye.

"It's not you." She barely felt the knuckles make contact with her face, recovering quickly. "You are not this monster."

There was only one name for him. Shadow. The looming figure of Clint Barton was always to be found lurking in the shadows. When he emerged it was always with a new torture device, whether it be words or knifes. She could deal with the weapons, though they were purposefully the same as those in her memories. But Loki was cruel, and he used Barton's mind against her. The spies had inventive imaginations, brought on by too much pain and suffering. The people Clint hated the most, like Loki, he had thought up worlds of torture for. The god of mischief forced him to use them on her.

It had been four days and Natasha hadn't slept. Shadow didn't need to sleep, and so there was no opportunity for her to do so. The only good thing about it was that she could keep an eye on Barton. He never left, never ate, never drank. It was worrying her. If both of them were running off of fumes when they broke free, how was she supposed to escape? She was badly injured, and the last time Clint had broken free of his mental captor, he had been overcome with both emotional and physical pain.

Black Widow looked up as Shadow emerged, once again, from the shadows. He was holding a knife, which, considering his previous methods, was unimpressive. He pulled his chair over to sit in front of her, playing with the knife and examining his captive. Her face was bruised and sliced open again, and so were her arms, neck, and shoulders. Her abdomen was covered in burns and knife wounds, and her whole torso was bruised. Several ribs were broken. The worst of her injuries, though, were the arrows. Hawkeye's finest. One was shot through each of her shoulders, so that whenever she moved one of her arms, red hot pain shot through her entire side. These particular arrows had shafts covered in spikes of all different shapes and sizes, spikes she had helped design herself. Pulling them out was going to hurt like a bitch, and they had already caused her a great deal of blood loss.

Today he made the same offer as every day. He looked her in the eye, holding up the knife so the light glinted off the blade.

"This could all stop if you just asked. I would end it quickly for you." Like every day, she narrowed her eyes and set her jaw, shooting daggers at him with her glare. He sighed, disappointed. "I guess I'll just have to keep carving then." But this time when he drew blood, it wasn't hers. It was strange, seeing a man carve into his own shoulder. But this wasn't really Clint, this wasn't really her partner. It was, however, hurting him.

"Stop," she hissed. He looked down at her with a fake look of surprise.

"Stop what?" The knife traced a line of red down his arm, magenta blood trickling down his muscles. Natasha took a breath, trying not to let it get to her. Clint wasn't even able to put up a fighting chance. At least she had the satisfaction of knowing how many of Loki's men she had killed, and how many were yet to come. Barton was forced to work _for _the villain.

Shadow grinned and ran the red stained blade across her cheek, lightly, as if caressing it, barely drawing blood. Then he returned the knife to his own arm, dug it into his own flesh. Natasha was furious, but like all of her emotions, it didn't show. Instead of screaming or threatening, she leaned forwards, her face close to his, her green eyes boring holes in his.

"Fight the bastard, Clint. The sick, sick bastard. You are strong."

Tony, Steve, and Samuel were all staring at the barn where four days previously, their friends had lost contact. Sam was holding up a screen, where the anxious faces of Pepper and Banner could be seen. Bruce was typing away, trying to find a way to track Loki or one of the spies, and Pepper was trying to get ahold of Director Fury. Falcon showed them the room while the other two examined the floor and walls for any clues.

"Blood here.." Steve knelt on the floor. "But who does it belong to?" Stark rolled his eyes, pointing to the wall right beside the blood stain.

"I'm guessing Miss Romanoff, she's the only one small enough to make this dent."

"You think they got the jump on her?" Steve looked up.

"Judging by the eight or so bodies out back, I'd say they tried and failed to do so," Thor stood in the doorway, his massive arms crossed.

"Or so?" Falcon questioned, almost not wanting to know the answer.

"Some of them were...in pieces," the god replied uncomfortably. "Though possibly from decay."

"Were they all her kills?" Tony questioned. Over the years they had known the spies, the rest of the crew had learned to tell the difference between their kills. Bartons were usually quick arrows to the head or heart, while she had much more variety. There were snapped necks, bashed in skulls, poisonings, suffocation, blood loss, you name it. She was much more brutal.

"Hers. Which makes me think Loki had control of Hawkeye."

"Great. So he's got the two of them in some room somewhere, and we don't know where. This is fantastic," Steve muttered bitterly, rising to his feet. "He's probably torturing them. Again."

"Actually, he's most likely having Barton torture her," Bruce put in helpfully. "The best way to get to her is with him, and vice versa. Physical and mental torture is my guess," he said thoughtfully. Everyone stared at him, or rather, they stared at the screen. He shrugged. "What?

"Thanks for the optimism, doctor," Sam said sarcastically, rubbing his tired eyes. None of them had slept much since two of their group had vanished.

"I'm just telling the truth," he grumbled, returning to his work.

**(Not done, but I got an idea for the next part. Someone feel VERY free to continue :P )**

The thin transparent phone, displaying a number and a picture of Black Widow, rang only twice before Tony picked up.

"Where the hell are you?" There was no greeting after a week of absence. The rest of the group crowded around, hoping for an image of her to appear, but it didn't. That wasn't a good sign- they usually tried to do video calls unless they couldn't.

"Shh, keep your voice down, Stark. I can't control the volume on this thing." Bruce was trying to track her, but the call was untraceable.

"How did you get out?" Sam questioned.

"I didn't, I just got my phone."

"You've been gone for seven days and you just NOW decided to call us?" Tony hissed, obeying her request for whispers.

"I have about five major concussions," she said.

"How do you have FIVE?" Tony questioned. There was a moment of silence.

"For a genius, you're an idiot, Stark."

"I'll take that as a compliment. Still, you can function with any injury, so why didn't you call us?"

"I'm a little tied up."

"I understand you're busy, but seven days!" Pepper elbowed Tony aside to speak, her voice concerned.

"I don't mean 'tied up,' I mean actually tied up. Chained up."

"Oh. Can you tell us anything about where you are?" Pepper spoke softly. "Anything you can tell us about where they might be keeping you?"

"Sorry, it's been kind of a rough time here, I haven't had a whole lot of time to think just yet," Natasha's voice was dripping with venom, and Pepper flinched away. There was a moment of silence again, and her voice came back through, scratchy. "Sorry. Look, Loki's got Barton. I can't leave until I fix him."

"Natasha, you need to leave! We'll get him later, we need to take care of you first," Steve cut in.

"Firstly, Rogers," she emphasized his last name. "You don't give me orders, you don't control me. I'm a big girl and I can tell myself what to do. Secondly," they could practically feel her rolling her eyes. "I can't get out without Barton. I'm not sure how to work his arrows." Tony frowned.

"Why do you need to work his arrows?"

"They're stuck in my shoulders." Pepper made a face of disgust.

"Can't you just pull them out?" Banner piped up hopefully.

"You don't think I would have just SAID that?" Her irritated voice whispered. "No, they've got barbed wires on the shafts. I could pull them out even like that, but the tips are magnetic and stuck to the chair."

"So you need him to fix it so the wires sink into the shaft?" Pepper said hopefully.

"No, I need him to pull them out. Look, this isn't important," she diverted the attention from her injuries, not wanting them to ask about others. "What is, is that Loki has his scepter, and he's going to bring the Asgardians down on us. You need to stop him."

"You make it sound so easy," Banner muttered, typing away as always. "I'm trying to figure out Loki's first target, but I can't break through this firewall…." This led to a short and complicated conversation between Natasha and Bruce, at the end of which she had gotten him through the firewall. "I didn't know you could hack," the doctor said, sounding impressed. Natasha has a short coughing fit, in which she spit out blood, but recovered.

"There are a lot of things you don't know about me, doctor," she whispered, her voice cracking from lack of water. It was apparent that every breath she took was painful. "He's coming." There was a scraping of metal and the line went blank. Tony ended the call and looked at the others.

"We aren't really going to leave her in there to be tortured, are we? She's our own," Pepper said, looking at them with wide eyes.

"What are we supposed to do? Search the entire planet?" Banner said helplessly.

"If that's what we have to," Rogers nodded determinedly.

"We won't find her," Tony muttered, rubbing his eyes. "We could search for months and we wouldn't find her, but we don't have months." He started pacing across the living room. "She's strong." He added, as if it was going to make any of them feel better.

"Yeah, so am I, but that doesn't mean either of us will last forever, Stark," Rogers put his hands on his hips.

"There's nothing I can do, Steve!" The genius cried frustratedly, slamming a palm against the table.

"Romanoff is strong," Thor was loud and confident, drowning out Captain America's response. "If anyone can bring him back and get them both out of there alive, it is her."

Slowly they sat around the table, looking tired and dejected.

"Do you think she would really tell us if she was really in trouble?" Sam questioned, resting his chin on his hand. "I mean, from what I know, she's not good at asking for help."

"She said she didn't need our help. You think she was lying?" Steve's brow furrowed.

"It's not like she's a spy that lies all the time or anything," Tony said sarcastically, earning a jab to the ribs from Pepper.

"Tony, don't talk like that. She's our friend."

"That's right," he glanced sideways at his girlfriend with an eyebrow raised. "She's our friend, but are we hers?" Pepper opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out, so she closed it, looking at her hands. Tony glanced around the table, wondering if anyone would deny that Romanoff didn't trust them. No one did.

"I'm a little worried that if we showed up there to rescue her, she'd blow out brains out," he muttered. It was a valid concern. She felt strongly enough about her partner that she wouldn't let anyone or anything get in her way. Steve sighed and rubbed his unshaven cheeks tiredly, then said,

"I guess there's only one thing TO do." Every face, skeptical, turned to him.

"Pray?" Stark put in sarcastically, recieving another jab from Pepper. Steve rolled his eyes.

"No. We go after Loki."

**I'm SO so sorry this has taken so long! I've been caught up in homework and life and just haven't had the time! Also, as an incentive to review and/or message me, anyone who does will recieve a sneak peek of the next chapter. Thanks for reading, I'll post the next chapter as soon as I start and finish writing it! Check out my other stories, peace out 3**


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

**Please review! If you do, you will get a sneak peek of the next chapter. Please be specific. A short sentence does not apply. **

***Barton***

I couldn't move, I couldn't speak. It was like drowning in chains, thrashing about to no avail. Every muscle and every fiber of my body seared red hot as I pushed and pushed against the _thing _that held me, that bound me in my bones. I could think but I wasn't in control of my body, I could see but I couldn't control the things I was doing. I-_he- _looked down at Tasha. She was still locked in this hellhole of a room, chained to the chair I had chained her to, bleeding from the wounds I had inflicted. I, he, what was the difference? The crushing pressure on my brain made me wish for the end, to get away from the feeling that my skull was about to I couldn't sucumb to the darkness threatening my mind, I had to save Tasha.

She was looking bad, worse than the last time she had come stumbling back from Loki's grasp. Her skin was pale, bruised in most places and cut in the rest. My hands had hit her, had cut her, had shot her through with razorwire arrows. _My hands. _Her flame red hair was still damp from waterboarding, and her green eyes were small slits of bare consciousness. Blood. The blood covering the tray of weapons I had used on her, her clothes soaked in it, the water she had been drowned in stained red. Her blood was everywhere but where it should be, inside her. She couldn't last much longer, even though _he _was being smart, dragging out her life to fit in as much pain as possible. _This is what Loki does, _I thought. _He loves this, he loves the 'high' power over our lives gives him. He's an addict, he's addicted to other people's pain. Just another junkie._

Unwillingly I picked up another knife, pressed it to the already scarred and cut skin on her neck. My fingers traced a small line of red across her skin, despite how hard I tried not to. Even to have the blade on me would be a relief. If I could swap our places, I would do it in an instant. But I couldn't, because Loki controlled my body like a puppet. My mind had been crammed into a cage at the back of my mind and was being forced to watch the play. She opened her eyes and stared at me with that fearless gaze I had tried to copy from her.

"Barton," she said quietly, stirring something deep in my mind. She said my name not in anger, not with fear, but with caring. Natasha Romanoff saved that voice for me and even after all this, after all he'd made me do to her, it was still there. "I know you're in there," she whispered. Her voice was hoarse, seeing as the only water she'd drank was during her times waterboarding._Tasha! _I screamed in my brain, returning to my thrashing and kicking, determined to be set free, to get her out. "Kick him in the ass, will you?" My hand grabbed her hair and yanked her head back, delivering a hard punch to her face that made several of the stitch-worthy cuts on her cheek open back up. When she opened her mouth to speak again, it was bloody, too much to just be coming from her mouth. She had bad internal bleeding,and needed to be taken to a hospital. All me.

"I trust you, Clint," she narrowed her eyes as she looked at mine. On the outside I moved closer, face to face, to leer at her. On the inside I was pummeling against the walls that held me captive, kicking to get free.

Getting close to Natasha Romanoff's face was his worst mistake.

It took Tony Stark just over twenty-four hours to discover Loki's scheme. When he did, everyone heard the loud metallic clanging noises from his office, suspected the worst, and came at a run. When they had all arrived, they found the genius once again seated in front of a large clear surface covered in writing and photographs. A few metal trays lay crumpled next to the clear glass wall.

"Tony?" Pepper was the first to speak, resting a hand gently on his shoulder.

"Son of a bitch," Tony rubbed his temples. "Remember in the news, a few months back, that one of the small uninhabited islands off the coast of Somalia was under construction?"

"Yeah…" Pepper said cautiously. Tony flicked the screen and it appeared all around them in the air, projected. Iron Man stood up and walked over to a picture of a large domed building, made of metal with large glass windows. He tapped the image and it became a 3-D object, complete with a beautiful rock garden and sandy beaches.

"This is a peace site, belonging to no country. And tomorrow," he said, making the building bigger. "Leaders from countries all over the world are gathering here to discuss a truce." There was silence for a minute.

"Can you show us the building schematic?" Steve shook his head.

"It isn't anywhere, at least not anywhere hackable. That's the other bad news. He didn't just take Barton and Natasha to play with them, though that was part of it. That S.H.I.E.L.D tunnel system didn't just lead to Loki's scepter." Samuel groaned and rubbed his tired eyes, as if maybe all of this was just a bad dream. "Loki is going to make a play for total world domination, and we were so distracted over Barton and Romanoff that we let him get ahead of us."

"What, so they're not important?" Steve hissed, obviously peeved at the blame in Stark's voice.

"He didn't say that," Pepper cut in before her boyfriend could reply. "He just said that Loki distracted us." The two men rolled their eyes at each other and got back on track.

"So what's our play?"

"I'd say," Banner said quietly. "It's time we have a chat with our good President."

It was easier said than done. After all, the president of the United States wasn't an easy man to get a hold of. Not to mention the general public wasn't sure if they were heroes or villains, after the big show down with Loki. Still, Stark and Banner managed to get a call through to the man himself.

"Hello," Stark said. The residents of Stark Tower were gathered in the conference room, watching a large projection of Barack Obama's face.

"Mr. Stark," he replied curtly. "I don't really have time for this at the moment."

"Make time," Tony replied cooly. The rest of them sat there looking between the two. Stark was well practiced at playing in the big leagues, but this was the President. "Look, sor, we have reason to believe that your life is in danger." The President's eyebrow twitched upwards.

"Is that a threat?"

"No, sir," Iron Man had to refrain from rolling his eyes, and chose to pace back and forth instead. "Loki is back on Earth, sir." There was a long silence in which the two men stared at each other.

"Back. Loki. What even are you talking about? The war criminal was taken back to Asgard," he pronounced it wrong and all of them flinched. The world still wasn't used to the fact that a semi-god had come to Earth, tried to take over, and leveled an entire city in the process. Still, they thought the President would be more on top of his game.

"Yes," Steve said quietly, his elbows resting on the table. Obama pinched the bridge of his nose, and told them to wait. His audio went silent but they could still see the screen as he stood and walked out of sight.

The odd little group waited impatiently for five minutes until the President sat back down in his chair.

"How exactly am I in danger, and why?" There was a man standing behind him now, but they couldn't see his face.

"Loki aims to attack the world peace meeting tomorrow, and obviously for world domination. We're not sure if he has the goal of killing, threatening, or holding the leaders hostage, but he's bad news, Mr. President," Tony was having a hard time sitting still, but eventually he fell back into his swivel chair.

"I need to go to that meeting," he said. "This is the most important meeting in my career, and it might be the future of this world."

"That's really not wise, sir, your life is in danger."

"I heard you the first time, Stark, what would you have me do about it?" He said testily.

"Miss the meeting, go to the bahamas, I don't know," he needed coffee. It was too early to be arguing on the phone with the president of his country.

"Thank you for the tip," he said curtly. "My men will be on the lookout."

"Mr. President sir, wait!" Steve cried, standing up and slapping the palms of his hands onto the table. "Please, let us help. We can run security," the 'cap'sicle offered. The rest of them gave him a, "What the hell?" He actively ignored them and looked back to Obama. "We just want to make sure you're safe sir. And the other leaders, too, of course."

Once again the President muted himself so they couldn't hear. Just as Iron Man opened his mouth to address Captain America, the sound came back on.

"We appreciate your offer but my men will handle this," he said curtly. Before anyone had a chance to speak, the line went dead. Stark turned to face the table.

"Who's up for crashing an international peace meeting?"

Natasha headbutted Barton with all the strength she could muster, sending him stumbling back, clutching his head. The world nearly went black in her vision, but she fought tooth and nail to stay conscious, and she did. The man before her was blinking rapidly, but she could see the blue fire fading slowly.

"Tasha?" He sounded confused.

"It's me, I'm here, Clint. Can you come over here?" He crawled over to the sound of her voice as she asked.

"God, Tasha, my head," he panted, closing his eyes and squeezing them tightly shut. He didn't seem to know where he was, what was happening, and he couldn't see. Every time he opened his eyes, all he saw was blue. Just like before he was in pain, but soon it subsided and he opened his eyes.

"Clint?"

"Oh god Nat," he turned to her, finally realizing where they were, that she was still tied up. "God, god," he yelled, his voice cracking as his eyes filled with tears.

"Shhhh," she said, her energy drained, barely floating above the abyss of unconsciousness that would mean death. "It's ok, you're ok, it's going to be ok." He was untying her as quickly as he could, the chains falling on the floor. When he finished Hawkeye knelt in front of her, tears pouring down his face. It was startling to see her partner cry like this, but she reached out, pain shooting from her shoulders and down her arms, and took his face in her hands, leaving streaks of blood on his cheeks.

"Tasha….I'm...I'm so so sorry," he choked, unable to put into words how he felt. She caught his gaze and held it. Her face, other than being wrecked, showed emotion. That was something she reserved for him too, something she still had for him despite everything he had done to her. Her normally mysterious and clouded face was open, showing how tired she was, how much pain she was in, but that fiery passion and caring that fit her personality so well.

"I. Forgive. You." She said clearly. "I need YOU to forgive you, I need you to trust yourself." He was swallowing hard, trying to calm down, hanging on her every word like a wide-eyed child.

"I don't..know if I can, Tasha," he looked down at the floor but she tugged at his chin until he looked back up at her.

"You have to."

"Why?"

"Because we're a team, Hawk," she said quietly, her forest green eyes tired but determined. "We're saving the world one bad guy at a time and we're doing it together. It's you and me against the world." He nodded, his eyes losing some of that sorrow and fear. "And," she added, her fingers sliding from his cheeks. "I'm about to black out," she whispered, and a split second later she did just that.


End file.
